Lament of the Highborne
by SoleixDeidara
Summary: The Lich King. The Frozen Throne. Ice Crown Citadel. These words held nothing but sorrow, hatred, and remorse for Sylvanas Windrunner. By orders, she must once again come face to face with her eternal enemy, but Sylvanas had been preparing for this for a long time. Her armies were ready, her plauge is developed, and revenge is within her grasp. Or is it?
1. Prologue

Lament of the Highborne

Chapter 1

The Banshee Queen's Remorse

"Lady Sylvanas," Thrall said impatiently, his image flickering in the scrying portal used to communicate between capitals, "I need your answer now. I realize that Northrend holds nothing but grief and sorrow for you, but your troops are needed on the western front."

Sylvanas gazed at Thrall's flickering image, the only answer apparent but unwilling to leave her lips.

"Northrend," she finally breathed, "Thrall, is that not the very place where, Arthas, the Lich King, now has himself holed away?" I believe in Ice Crown Citadel."

"Interesting you know even that much, Lady Sylvanas," Thrall said casually, though Sylvanas detected the hint of suspicion behind the calm words, "Seeing as we have received no reports of your… armies, in any area of Northrend."

Despite the fact that she knew Thrall could see every last detail of her face, Sylvanas couldn't resist allowing a small smile to thread her lips. "Why Warchief," Sylvanas said innocently, "What kind of leader would I be if I didn't have my dark little secrets? I mean, my people have a reputation in your eyes of being indecisive and devious, so I thought I should live by what they say. After all, I am the Banshee Queen."

Thrall furrowed his brow and glared steely at Sylvanas, "Caution, Sylvanas," Thrall warned, "You may be a well-respected leader of the Horde, but, make no mistake, any treachery against me, my people, or the other members of the Horde, and I will ensure that your "light" is extinguished before it has a chance to catch fire. Do I make myself clear?"

Sylvanas clenched her hands into fists, a dull pain rising in her palms as her nails dug into her flesh, but she forced a smile. "As clear as the Sunwell before it destroyed us all in a fiery explosion of Fel Energy."

"Your humor is refreshing," Thrall laughed, "It is nice to see you showing an _emotion_ for once. Alright, there is much work to be done on the Borean Tundra. I will take my leave. Send as many troops as you can spare to Howling Fjord… if you haven't already, and remain steadfast. The Alliance have begun to set bases in Northrend, and, although we share a common enemy in the Lich King, I want any of their bases within a vicinity of our own eliminated. Dismissed."

The portal dissipated and Thrall's image faded from existence. "He knows—he has to know," Sylvanas sighed as her Champion, Nanthanos Blightcaller walked up to stand beside her, "All of the precautions I have taken, the treacherous hidden routes by sea I led myself, the lives of my own people put at risk, just to ensure maximum secrecy so I can develop the plague that will, once and for all, eradicate the Scourge, and he somehow catches wind."

Sylvanas let out another heavy sigh as she slumped into her throne. "I don't understand, Nanthanos," Sylvanas breathed, "I feel like I am the only one who sincerely wants to destroy Arthas."

"It is not that, Lady Sylvanas," Nanthanos said, "You are the only one who is willing to pay the price for his defeat. The other races do not want to sacrifice anything, while you realize the greater purpose. In order for Azeroth to be safe and the Forsaken to prosper, Arthas must die."

"Thank you," Sylvanas said, straightening up on her throne, "I needed to hear that. For a moment, I almost thought I had lost _all _my humanity, but it would seem I still have remnants."

"Of course you do, Sylvanas," Nanthanos said, this time his bony hand reaching out to brush her cheek. Sylvanas felt her body reject the contact, but she stomached through it. She knew very well that Nanthanos sought her, but she, on the other hand, doubted she would ever love again. She hadn't loved anyone since…

"No…" She murmured her voice barely a whisper.

"Milady?" Nanthanos asked, puzzled.

"Forgive me," she replied, snapping out of her reverie, "I am, shockingly, tired. These constant battles leave me so… weary. I realize our kind doesn't need sleep, but… I feel that it should help me soothe my troubled mind. I leave you, Champion. Organize a fleet to begin our journey to Northrend. I shall take my leave."

Without waiting for Nanthanos to respond, Sylvanas got off her throne and began the ascent to the tower that she called home. Her chamber lied in one of the only remaining spires of the once-great Lordaeron, and she had, has, and always would call it home. To Sylvanas, it was the closest thing that resembled her old home at Windrunner Spire.

As she reached the top of the spire, as always, a single tear leaked down her face. _Velleria… how I wish I could make it up to you… but you cannot even bare to look at me now._

Sylvanas shambled over to her bed, lying down gracefully on the black and purple satin sheets, and, with great effort, she forced her eyes closed.

She knew sleep would not come easy—it never did—but she knew eventually her eyes would close. It was only a matter of time…

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**A/N: Okay, I am halfway through the next chapter of my other story, The Fame Monster, but, do to my overwhelming love of the character known as Sylvanas Windrunner, I felt I needed to make this story. This is just the prologue so it is kind of short, but, if you guys like it, I intend to make this a multi chapter work... After I finish the Fame Monster of course. Anyway, Please tell me what you think in da reviews ;). I look forward to developing this story. After all, Sylvanas Windrunner is the single most awesome character ever thought of in the history of eternity. (Does my love for her show that much?) :)**

**SoleixDeidara**

**The plauge has come upon your skin**

**The blight shall purge away your sin**

**Let it be known that this world shall be clean**

**For now is the era of the Banshee Queen**


	2. Sorrow of the Banshee Queen

Chapter 2

The Banshee Queen's Sorrow

"Nanthanos," Sylvanas called as she adjusted her bow on her back, "is the fleet ready to sail?" Nanthanos walked up to her and kneeled.

"Yes, Banshee Queen," he said, "everything is in order. We are ready to head out. Shall I call for the Head of the Plague Committee?"

"Summon them at once," Sylvanas said, slightly harsher than she meant, but, ignoring Nathanos's wince, she continued, "Everything must be perfect if our assault on the Alliance forces in Howling Fjord is to go as planned. They should count themselves lucky, actually. It isn't every day one gets to see the Banshee Queen on the field of battle."

"Are you trying to say you are going to make an appearance when we land, your grace?" Nanthanos queried.

"That has yet to be determined," Sylvanas snapped, "now, go and get the Plague Committee. I have no time for games."

"Yes, Banshee Queen," Nanthanos said briskly, "Will that be all?" Sylvanas regarded him icily for a moment.

"Yes," she replied slowly, "Now, leave me. I have much to consider." Sylvanas watched coldly as Nanthanos departed from her throne room. Sylvanas sat back heavily in her throne and sighed. _Undercity… if I am to leave this place, who shall protect it in my absence. Nanthanos… he shall remain here. With him gone, I will not have to worry about his "advances" distracting me. However, that is the least of my worries… going back to Northrend… I will have to face… him…_

_ Sylvanas notched an arrow from her rapidly dwindling quiver on her bow, and, taking quick but precise aim, pierced on of the many undead surrounding her in the skull. Rolling out of the way of a gargantuan abomination's axe, she sprung up over the head of the creature and, with one deft strike, plunged her sword into its skull. Tugging the blade free, she leapt off the abomination's body onto a low hanging tree limb just as it crashed to the ground. _

_ "So many…" Sylvanas breathed raggedly, "Even after the Gate of the Moon was destroyed, he still advances. I am running out of time; at this rate he will arrive in Silvermoon by the morning…_

_ Her thoughts were interrupted as she dove gracefully off of the tree limb to dodge a troupe of skeletal sorcerers' spells. Notching seven arrows on her bowstring, she made quick work of the group. However, a small army of undead swarmed into the clearing. _

_ "Damn… There are just too many. I can slow them down with a spell, at least while I form a party of Rangers to properly combat them." Sylvanas focused her energy and unleashed a wave of arcane power. The forest blossomed to life and began to converge on the undead: trees ensnared them in their roots, vines tripped and whipped them, flowers and grass blades swirled into the air obscuring their vision. _

_ "I must warn them, quickly. They are not but an hour's march from Silvermoon…" Sylvanas began to run across the lush landscape, but, her body suddenly paralyzed by some ethereal fear, she forced herself to look up into the sky as a shadow fell upon her. The legendary Frostmourne in hand, the leader of the siege of Quel'Thalas, Arthas, sat atop an armor-clad frostwyrm before her. _

_ She watched, helpless, as he ran her through with the blade. She gazed down at her stomach, the blade having pierced straight through her, and she shed a single tear at the thought that she failed her people. Then, the world was consumed by the darkness. _

Sylvanas shivered. It had been years since her downfall in Quel'Thalas, but the memory haunted her still. The shadow of the Lich King had never left her memory; how could it? The ideal of her defeat was too much to bear. However, it had been years since her defeat and humiliation at the hands of Arthas, and since then, Sylvanas had devoted all of her physical being to increasing the size of her army; she had strived to build up a formidable fighting force.

As she watched the numerous undead scurry through her throne room with disgust, she allowed a small smile to grace her lips.

"The stage is almost set. My army shall be the weapon that strikes the finishing blow to Arthas; they are the arrows in my quiver…"

"Dark Lady," Nanthanos called out, interrupting her thoughts, "The fleet is ready. What do you want me to do?" Sylvanas hissed, angry that Nanthanos had disturbed her reverie.

"I am assigning you here, Champion." Sylvanas said slyly, "I need you to hold the balance while I am off in Northrend. Can I trust you to do this?"

Nanthanos started to protest, but an icy glare from Sylvanas silenced him. "Whatever our Queen commands…" Nanthanos sighed.

As Nanthanos left, Sylvanas sighed in relief. The fleet was ready...

"I suppose it's time I paid a visit to Arthas," Sylvanas said wickedly to herself, "My arrows have longed to meet his embrace…"

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**A/N: I realize this is a short chapter. I have been busy lately, but I wanted some sort of update so you all would no I... still exist you know? Anyway, Sylvanas is one of my FAVORITE, if not my favorite characters out of any game/show/book, so I hope to do her justice. Also, I shall include that quote ;P just give me a little time. **

**SoleixDeidara *heart***

**~We are the Forsaken. We will slaughter anyone who stands in our way~**


	3. Battle For Howling Fjord

**A/N: Not a new chapter, just a re-polish _ Sorry. This chapter had A LOT of lore mistakes... and other mistakes... So, for the sake of coherency, I rewrote it ^_^ Please notify me if there is anything else I need to fix as the idea of not doing the great Sylvanas Windrunner Justice is horrifying .-. I shall get to work on the next chapter as soon as I can :)**

* * *

Battle For Howling Fjord

"Soldier's," a distant Alliance commander rallied, "Today we fight the Forsaken in the name of King Wrynn. We will—" His valorous speech was cut short as Sylvanas, who grew bored of his words the moment he started speaking, pierced his throat with an arrow. _One down._ And that was all that mattered. At the end of the day, enemies were merely numbers, but, although they seemed infinite, unlike numbers there was an end to the enemy. However, for some reason unbeknownst to her, Sylvanas felt a strange presence in the midst of the fighting.

She couldn't place her finger on it, but it felt so… familiar. Ignoring the pangs of familiarity, Sylvanas focused her mind on the battle. Battle had become something of a bore for Sylvanas—she couldn't die, so there was no longer any true reason to be cautious. Sylvanas doubted any of these soldiers had a weapon powerful enough to wound, let alone kill her. However, as she danced through the armies of the Alliance, she could not help but flash a smile. It was when she was in the midst of battle that she felt truly alive—well, as close to living as was possible for her. The soldier fell to the ground, dead, and, with a cruel grin gracing her lips, she flexed her hands, and a dark energy spilled out from them. The bodies of the soldiers rose from the ground to their feet, twitching like surreal marionettes, and, jerkily picking up their fallen weapons, they charged off into battle, attacking their former-allies. The eyes of the Alliance soldiers widened in horror as they were struck down by their comrades; Sylvanas's cruel grin widened—she had hated these dark powers at first, but she had come to see them as merely arrows in her quiver…

The Forsaken were relentless. The Alliance army was valiant, and their defenses were solid, but, there was nothing that a little chaos couldn't overcome. Sylvanas continued her assault, savoring the fact that she was in battle. Normally, she would be far away from the battle, planning out some elaborate strategy in the sanctity of some Forsaken settlement, but, to be loose on the battlefield, a blur of arrows, Sylvanas felt the rare sensation of delight wash over her. Cutting down enemy after enemy, this _is _what she was meant to do. Sylvanas notched a dozen arrows on her bow, each one meeting the throat of an enemy soldier as they were released from her bowstring in a blur of shadow.

The shimmering blood began to coat the battlefield in a glistening ruby sheen. Scores of enemies were cut down, the Forsaken combat troops' sheer numbers overwhelming them on the front lines while the undead mage's decimated the rest of the Alliance forces with bolts of ice, blizzards, gouts of flame, and waves of arcane energy. However, despite their massive casualties, the Alliance troops weren't retreating.

_What is making them so persistent…? Normally just the sight of a Forsaken is enough to send the weakest running. But here they are, getting slaughtered on all fronts and yet still they persist. What is giving them such valor?_ Sylvanas's question was answered sooner than she hoped. And, the answer was something that horrified her to her very core.

Shouting commands from a hill in the center of the battlefield, her sister, Vereesa Windrunner stood, her bow sending waves of crystalline silver arrows into the Forsaken ranks; the arrows mowing down Sylvanas's undead army at an alarming rate.

_No… this cannot be._ Sylvanas felt as if her un-beating heart was about to give out. Sylvanas had always held this fear deep within the darkest recesses of her mind. Ever since she had become… the abomination she was now, she dreaded the day that she might meet one of her sisters in battle. They were, after all, on different sides now. However, Sylvanas knew she couldn't let a little family tie cost her a victory in war.

Raising her bow, a black tear running down her face, she notched an arrow and aimed at Vereesa. Sylvanas knew if the arrow hit, it would be a quick and torturous death. Her arrows were laced with a virulent poison that Sylvanas doubted even the accursed Tyrande Whisperwind could heal. The violet poison coating her arrowhead glistened in the radiant light of the sun; it would have been a thing of beauty if one merely glanced at it, but Sylvanas knew the dark power that this toxin held within its amethyst depths. She closed one eye, lining the other with the shaft of her arrow, and, as she inhaled slowly, the world crawled to a halt.

Suddenly, as if she had sensed the impeding danger, Vereesa swiveled in Sylvanas's direction, her bow drawn back with a silver arrow glinting in the sunlight, and their eyes met. They gazed at each other, sister meeting the icy glare of sister. Sylvanas saw something flicker in Vereesa's eyes—pain, Sylvanas realized with a start. Pain at gazing at the monstrosity that her little sister had become pain at meeting her sister on the battlefield, pain at knowing that an arrow is aimed at each of their throats…

"I'm sorry," Sylvanas mouthed, though she knew Vereesa's had no way of hearing her sentiments. She shot her arrow aimlessly into the battlefield, and it impaled itself in some unlucky gnome mage whose blizzard spell promptly went out of control and froze a group of unwary mages solid in gleaming permafrost.

Vereesa's gaze lingered on Sylvanas for a moment_; nothing but contempt… or is that perhaps pity… it doesn't matter. I have a war to win… _Sylvanas slung her bow over her back and began to chant a spell. Black liquid pooled in her hands, inky tendrils spiraling down from her out-stretched fingertips and, as the black liquid snaked across the earth before sinking deep into the bowels of the earth; the clean scent of nature replaced by the aroma of the corpse lily. A bony hand suddenly burst from the earth, followed by an entire arm, and an entire skeleton rose from the dark earth; the whole action taking a few seconds. More and more followed suit and, in a moment, Sylvanas was surrounded by a troupe of skeletal sorcerers and undead elves wielding bows.

"Go." Sylvanas said, "Take to the front and wreak havoc…" The skeleton nodded, its bleach-white skull bright in the light, and, as it headed toward the battlefield, it motioned for the others to follow. Sylvanas summoned a small group of banshee's, and she sent them to the battle as well, mournful wails cascading out across the battlefield in a river of sorrow as the banshees began to sing.

Sylvanas glanced back toward Vereesa, who still watched her, although now a look of horror marred her face. Sylvanas smirked. _Good, she fears me… or at least my power._

However, Sylvanas's smile was short lived, as Rhonin, the Arch-Mage of the Kirin Tor, materialized next to her. _What is he doing here…? _He waved his hands, powerful magic distorting the air as he weaved arcane seals, and, as a buzzing sound filled the air, the Forsaken troops that surrounded the hill disintegrated.

"So…" Sylvanas said bitterly, "The leader of the Kirin Tor wants to join the battle; a neutral faction wants to enter the fray… Well then, it's time to even the scales."

Sylvanas gathered energy within her body, her body surrounded by a scrim of her black aura, and, as the power flowed to her hands, she released it in a wave of dark power. The wave of blackness overtook the entire battlefield, and, suddenly, every Alliance troop was paralyzed in their tracks. Sylvanas quickly notched an arrow on her bow—she doubted she could keep Rhonin paralyzed for more than a few seconds—and, inhaling deeply, she loosed the arrow, the obsidian arrows gleaming with a dark ferocity in the sunlight. Her eyes followed every second of the arrow's path, but, somehow, at the heartbeat before the arrow connected with Rhonin's body, Vereesa threw herself in its path.

Sylvanas felt an overwhelming horror overtake her as she watched the arrow embed itself in deep in the stomach of her beloved sister. _No… No…. NOOOOO! What have I done?! Why would she get in the way of that interfering fool! Vereesa… No…._

As Sylvanas's concentration broke, so did her spell, and the entire army was released from her grasp. Rhonin's eyes widened in horror as he gazed down at Vereesa's pale form, and, arcane energy gathering around him as he prepared a portal, his voice echoed through the battlefield.

"Retreat! All Alliance forces retreat. This is an order." With that, he promptly stepped through the portal with Vereesa's broken form…

Sylvanas watched with a grim expression as the Alliances forces retreated. Her troops exclaimed and roared with excitement; the more eager and newly turned chasing after the retreating forces, but Sylvanas felt hollow and broken. Sylvanas stalked back toward the dock, boarding her ship, and, the troops and crew bowing before her as she strode onto the ebony deck; the boards echoing with a dull sound as she padded across them. The sharp sea air seemed only to cut deeper into her wounds, but Sylvanas did not let her inner turmoil show—she was, after all, the source of their undying devotion. She walked up to the top of the ship, overlooking the Forsaken settlement where her troops now gathered, and inhaling silently, Sylvanas's voice resonated through the ranks.

"Beloved Forsaken. We have achieved a great victory today. The Alliance will think twice before attacking this front again. We have shown them that the Forsaken are more than a threat; we are a force to be reckoned with, and we will storm across Northrend. We will make the Alliance see that they cannot stop us. Howling Fjord belong to US! THEY CANNOT STOP US, AND WE WILL DESTROY ANY WHO TRY. Now, my beloved Forsaken, rest, but know and remember this. WE ARE THE FORSAKEN, AND WE WILL SLAUGHTER ANYONE WHO STANDS IN OUR WAY! THE ENEMY MAY BE STRONG, BUT WE ARE INFINITELY STRONGER. IF THE ALLIANCE THINKS THAT THEY WILL DEFEAT US THIS EASILY, THEY ARE SADLY MISTAKEN. Now is the time to shake the world to its foundations! NOW is the time to remind those who would enslave us that we shall never yield! NOW is the time of the Forsaken! Power to the Forsaken - NOW AND FOREVER!"

A chorus of cheers roared through her army, and, as Sylvanas descended below decks to her cabin, she could still here her army's cheers of excitement.

_Rest my children… for soon, we will reach Ice Crown Citadel, and the Lich King and I will have a reckoning… _


End file.
